


Like Moths to the Flame

by amerasu1013 (amerasu_1013)



Series: Football One-shots [7]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst and Porn, Jealousy, M/M, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22088362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amerasu_1013/pseuds/amerasu1013
Summary: It’s not healthy, this thing they do. It’s anything but healthy, but here they are, once again, doing the same thing all over again. Sergio can’t stop, doesn’t ever want to, and he knows,knowsGerard feels the same. They’re drawn to each other, like magnets, like moths to the flame, don’t care that they’ll burn, that they’ll hurt, they still come back every damn time and to hell with the consequences. This is too good to stop - this is to good toeverlet go.[Sergio and Gerard at a club. Dancing, jealousy, backroom shenanigans. And one unhealthy relationship.]
Relationships: Gerard Piqué/Sergio Ramos
Series: Football One-shots [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514957
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	Like Moths to the Flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zilldk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zilldk/gifts).



> I accidentally did a porn. But true to form I did an angsty, slightly twisted kind of porn… Oops? This story wasn’t planned at all and it developed into a direction I wasn’t expecting when I started writing it either. It’s strange and dark and their relationship is seriously not exactly healthy. Be warned.  
> This is brought to you by the Tron: Legacy Soundtrack. I randomly got the idea to listen to it again and then words happened. Brought to you also by Geri’s suspenders.
> 
> PS: This one is for [zilldk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zilldk/pseuds/zilldk), sorry the suspenders don’t feature more prominently, I got distracted by other shiny things...  
> PPS: Since this was supposed to be a surprise for [zilldk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zilldk/pseuds/zilldk), this is unbetaed. English is not my native language, so if you spot any mistakes, please do point them out and I’ll fix them!  
> PPPS: Use condoms, people. I went without condoms for this one because I wanted to and this is fiction and not real life. But you stay safe and protected out there! :)

The bass is pumping, the air is thick, humid, ripe with sweat and musk and more. Bodies are writhing on the dancefloor, pressing close to each other, shifting, moving, glistening with sweat, glinting in the neon lights. Pupils blown wide with alcohol and drugs and arousal, hands reaching out, touching, caressing, inviting. Over there a couple is kissing so deeply they are lost to everything around them, entirely focused on each other, they don’t notice the avid, jealous eyes roaming their bodies. The music is loud enough to cover every moan, every whisper, you’d have to shout to make yourself heard. But you don’t need to talk, do you? You just need to _move_. Join in, dance, have fun. Stop caring about the world for a little while, get lost in the music, the dancing. For an hour, an evening, and who knows, maybe you’ll get lost forever...

There’s a man over there, by the entrance. Tall, dark, messy hair, the kind of hair you get if you just got out of bed (Your own bed? Someone else’s?), carefully groomed beard. Expensive suit, dark jacket over a blindingly white dress shirt, in the neon light it’s almost see-through, hinting teasingly at what lies beneath. No tie, collar popped, like he just got off from work and now wants to have a bit of fun. What kind of fun, you wonder… and would like to find out.

As the man makes his way through the crowd his jacket parts a little and shows suspenders, black leather, maybe a tad old-fashioned, but this man makes them look effortlessly cool and tauntingly suave, makes you think you could never dress this well, never look this confident. You also think that you could never score a guy like that. That you’ll never get to find out what kind of fun he’s after.

You still longingly watch as the man weaves his way through the crowd, avoiding a drunk dancer here, an inviting hand there, blue eyes observing his surroundings. They don’t miss anything, those eyes. Bright they are, keen, intense, calculating. _Searching_. It seems he already knows what fun he’s looking for. It seems like you really won’t stand a chance.

But, over there. Another man. Not in a suit, this one. Wearing baggy grey pants and a wife-beater instead, long hair, tousled and slick with sweat. Heavy chains around his neck, leather bands around his wrists, earrings glinting in the flashing lights. He looks rougher, this one, body littered with tattoos, colorful decorations peeking out from under his clothes. Arms, hands, back and neck, and where his pants are riding low you can just barely see another tattoo, right above his pelvis. You wonder why he had it put into that exact spot - and when he notices you looking, he flashes you a wicked smirk that invites you to touch.

You come closer instantly, drawn in by that wicked, wicked smirk. He lets you draw near, he winks at you, beckoning you even closer, until you’re pressed up against him, touching, hot and heavy, and he starts to move, twist, shimmy, in something that only barely could be called ‘dancing’. It feels more like - like _sex_ , like foreplay, grinding hips and gripping hands, you look into dark, heated eyes, lick your lips at the teasing glint in them. You shiver when he puts his mouth close to your ear and breathes dirty words into it, words that would travel straight to your cock. You pull him closer, let him feel your hardness, you feel breathless and stupid with arousal and you think that this wicked, teasing creature might be the best thing you have ever seen. He laughs at your fumbling, pushes into your greedy hands, at your clumsy eagerness to get closer. You open your mouth to suggest getting somewhere more private and he laughs, warm and dark in your ear and you repeat your words, come on, let’s go, I want you…

But suddenly you’re yanked backwards, stumbling, fall down on your ass right there on the dancefloor.

The man in the suit is standing there, above you, but with his back to you, he’s not even looking at you. He’s entirely focused on the tattooed man instead - you don’t even matter to him one single bit.

The suited man’s back and neck are tense, his fists balled, he says something, you can’t make out what. The tattooed man only grins in response, eyes dark and wicked. He cocks his head, puts his hands in his pockets, the move making his hips push forward - and everybody can see how hard he is beneath his pants. You lick your lips, reflexively turned on, _still_ turned on, confused and wanting -

And can only watch how the man in the suit drags the other man away through the crowd. They’re gone within seconds, lost from your eyes. The last thing you see is the tattooed man throwing you a last, taunting smirk. Then he’s gone. You get to your feet slowly, the music loud enough to hurt your ears, your head, bodies pushing too close from everywhere, on all sides. You’re angry and frustrated, you head to the bar for a drink or a dozen. You try to forget what happened, but you aren’t quite be able to.

That last smirk is etched in your memory. And you think it was not _you_ who the tattooed man was taunting the whole time.

***

“Took you long enough.” Sergio says and then he moans, because Gerard’s hand slides into his pants and _squeezes_. Sergio laughs, breathless and aroused, yanks the other man closer and doesn’t give a flying fuck about where they are right now. They’re alone, there’s a door between them and the dancefloor, that’s all that matters.

Gerard reply is a growl, he shoves Sergio against the wall with enough force to rattle his bones and Sergio laughs again, moans, laughs and moans and wants Gerard to push harder. He wraps his arms around Gerard’s neck, pants in his ear, dizzy with lust and a gleeful kind of happiness, pushes his hard cock into Gerard’s touch and thinks that this is exactly what he needed today.

It’s not healthy, this thing they do. It’s anything _but_ healthy, but here they are, once again, Sergio and Gerard, Gerard and Sergio, doing the same thing all over again. Sergio can’t stop, doesn’t ever want to, and he knows, _knows_ Gerard feels the same. They’re drawn to each other, like magnets, like moths to the flame, don’t care that they’ll burn, that they’ll hurt, they still come back every damn time and to hell with the consequences. This is too good to stop - this is to good to _ever_ let go.

Gerard’s hand squeezes around Sergio’s cock, tight, punishing, and Sergio moans and throws his head bac. It hits the wall with a hard thud that makes him see stars for a moment, but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t give a flying _fuck_. He spreads his legs, pushes his hips forward, into that touch, wants more and harder and _more_. Gerard gives it to him, fingers rough, mean, twisting and stroking and it’s too rough, too dry, but Sergio just laughs and tightens his grip around Gerard’s neck to egg him on.

“You fucking-” Gerard hisses the words, breaks off into a groan when Sergio moans into his ear again, loud and shameless, beyond turned on. “You fucking - why do you keep-”

He doesn’t finish the question and Sergio wouldn’t answer anyway, he doesn’t _have_ an answer. Not one he’ll admit to anyway... Instead he throws his head back again, baring his throat, and moans when he hears Gerard’s breath stutter. The other man lets him go suddenly, Sergio falls against the wall, immediately starting to glare. But Gerard isn’t trying to stop, thank fuck, instead he’s nestling at his fly. Sergio licks his lips and wants to reach out to help.

Gerard stops him with a shake of his head, eyes dark and dangerous. “Off.” He says, nodding at Sergio’s clothes. “Right now.”

Sergio raises an eyebrow at the order, thinks about refusing, thinks about making Gerard work for it… But he’s too fucking riled up to drag things out.

His clothes come off easily, thrown to the side, who cares what happens to them. Sergio doesn’t - and at least Gerard didn’t rip them this time. He’s naked now, fully naked, leaning against the wall, legs spread wide, arms spread wide, nothing but invitation. The air is cool on his heated skin, goosebumps rise, maybe from the cold, maybe from the way Gerard looks at him. A gaze burning with unbridled lust, with anger, with eager, greedy approval, and Sergio shivers again under that gaze, feels the blood pump through his veins, feels the hunger rise even more. Hunger that matches Gerard’s, hot and angry, never to be sated. He _wants_.

Gerard comes closer, Sergio breathes in sharply as he does, almost shaking with need. The other man keeps nestling at his pants, Sergio’s eager eyes following his every move, he laughs when he sees Gerard’s fingers fumble, clumsy in his arousal, unable to pull the zipper down on the first go. It’s good to know he’s not the only one almost _beside_ himself… Good to know Gerard wants this just as much as Sergio does.

He grabs Gerard’s hand before the other man can continue taking off his pants. “No.” Sergio says and swallows hard, eyes greedy on Gerard’s fancy suit. “Just like that.”

Gerard raises an eyebrow but obliges. “Kinky fucker.” He says and smirks, Sergio wants to hit him for the condescension in that smirk, but instead he reaches out, wraps a hand each around Gerard’s suspenders and yanks him closer.

“You love it.” He breathes into Gerard’s ear, the other man does not deny it. He throws Sergio a look though - one Sergio doesn’t know how to read and doesn’t _want_ to read. He shies away from the implications of that look and instead pulls on the suspenders again. This is not the time to think…

Sergio steps back and turns around, deliberately slow and teasing. He faces the walls, arms at his side, ass pushed out invitingly. Gerard lets out a guttural sound at the sight and Sergio smiles, gleeful and turned on. He throws Gerard a look over his shoulder and licks his lips in blatant invitation. “And now fuck me like you _mean_ it.”

***

Gerard’s breath again stutters in his chest when he pushes in two greedy fingers and realizes Sergio is already wet, already stretched. “Came prepared, did you?” He growls, there’s approval in his voice, but a certain amount of annoyance too. “Thought I was a sure thing, huh?”

Well, _yes_ , Sergio thinks, this is exactly why he came here today, to get to Gerard, to make this happen. But of course he doesn’t say that, doesn’t admit that he’s been craving the other man’s touch, his attention. Instead he turns his head again and throws Gerard a challenging grin over his shoulder. “Maybe I was just looking for any good dick. There’s more than yours, you know. Bigger ones too…”

Gerard’s eyes flash at that and he pushes forward, pressing Sergio harder against the wall. His chest pushes right against cold bricks and he hisses, uncomfortable for a second before Gerard’s fingers push in deep and _twist_ and Sergio chokes on a moan. “Yesss…”

There’s a dark chuckle in his ear, beard rough on his neck, chafing, Sergio shudders and pushes back for more. “I’ll show you big.” Gerard murmurs, a threat and a promise and Sergio moans and spreads his legs in eagerness. “Hope you don’t need to sit down tomorrow. You won’t even be able to _walk_ once I’m done with you.”

“I’m counting on i-” Sergio starts but he can’t finish the words, can’t talk anymore at all, because now Gerard is pushing in, fuck, pushing right in. Deep from the first go, not slowly, not carefully, pushes in and in and in and doesn’t let up, just keeps _pushing_. Sergio chokes on air because it hurts, he’s stretched but not stretched enough, Gerard is too big, he forgot how big the guy is and oh, it’s too much, oh fuck, it’s too much -

Gerard grabs Sergio’s hands and forces them above his head and then he _pushes_ , hard, and buries his cock to the hilt. Sergio gasps, he’s seeing stars, twists in Gerard’s grip but there’s nowhere to go, nowhere, he’s trapped, speared open, forced open and he -

He _moans_. Long, loud, because Gerard is in deep, _so_ deep, as deep as only he can go. Touching places deep, deep inside, places that only Gerard can touch, places that Sergio won’t allow any other man to touch, only Gerard, only ever him. Sergio is _burning_ , there’s fire in his veins, flames licking over his skin, his rim is burning, his ass is burning, forced wide, wide open and he moans and moans and…

And wants _more_.

Gerard doesn’t make him wait for it, maybe he knows Sergio would _hurt_ him if he did, maybe he just can’t wait anymore either. He pulls back, one hand tight on Sergio’s wrists, the other arm wrapped around Sergio’s chest for leverage, and then he _pushes_ again. In, back in, where Sergio needs him most. He moves, thrusts, hard and rough and oh so sweet, cock pulsing, greedily sinking deeper, fire in Sergio’s ass, in his mind, he throws his head back and is helpless against the heat. Deep, so deep, over and over again and he burns, he’s the moth, Gerard is the flame and Sergio _burns_. Or maybe it’s the other way round, maybe they _both_ burn...

It’s rough, it’s vicious, it’s Gerard fucking Sergio like a beast, working off his frustrations on Sergio’s willing body, it’s Sergio pushing back, always wanting more, searching for ever new ways to make Gerard do _this_ to him, _for_ him. He spreads his legs as much as he can, pushes back as much as he can, Gerard growls and holds him tighter, doesn’t want Sergio to move, wants to keep him exactly where he has him, doesn’t want Sergio to slip away again. Sergio tries anyway because he always does, Gerard has to grip tighter than he wants and he hates it and loves it and Sergio does too.

They’re slick with sweat, Sergio’s hair a complete mess, Gerard’s fancy white shirt sticking to his chest. Sergio can _feel_ the shirt against his back, the cloth of the jacket, he can feel the suspenders coolly sliding over his skin, and he moans at the thought that Gerard is still dressed, that Sergio is the only one naked. But Gerard will look even more disheveled than Sergio will later, won’t he? His suit is going to be rumpled, creased, stained… Like a mark Sergio left on him, and he _loves_ the thought that it was _him_ who did that to Gerard.

He laughs again, breathless, happy, floating high on lust and pleasure and glee. He laughs and he moans because Gerard is hard, he’s brutal, he doesn’t let up and just keeps going, thrusting hard and deep and fast, no skill, no finesse, too impatient and greedy to care about things like angles or speed. He’s fucking like a man possessed, he’s rutting like a beast in heat and Sergio thinks again: I did this to him. _I_.

Gerard pushes deep now, deep enough to bruise, hips snapping forward in one brutal, violent push - and he comes, comes, _comes_ , deep inside Sergio, his entire body _shaking_ and stuttering out one long, loud moan. Sergio feels the liquid heat fill his ass and he throws his head back and shouts in triumph as he comes as well.

***

Afterwards Sergio pants for breath, sagging against the wall, it’s only Gerard’s grip that keeps him upright. At his back, Gerard is panting too, hot and wet against Sergio’s neck, sounding completely wrecked. Sergio smiles as he hears it and sighs happily, rolling his shoulders. He’s sore as all hell now, but he doesn’t care... Sergio’s ass is burning, that throbbing, slow ache that only Gerard ever causes, that ache that won’t go away for _days_ and will remind Sergio with every move of what they did. Sergio loves that ache… He _loves_ it.

Gerard pulls out, way too soon, and Sergio hisses in displeasure. He doesn’t say anything though, doesn’t ask for Gerard to stay, doesn’t ask to feel him for longer, and Gerard doesn’t offer. He steps away, there’s the rustle of him righting his clothes and cold air on Sergio’s back. Suddenly he feels lonely. Suddenly he doesn’t feel as good anymore.

Sergio grimaces and ignores the dull ache in his heart. His heart is stupid anyway. 

He has his cocky smirk ready when he turns back around to gather his clothes. Gerard watches him thoughtfully, but doesn’t say anything either. They’re silent as Sergio wipes off the worst of the mess and gets dressed. They don’t say anything. What is there to say?

Then Sergio leaves, without turning back. He doesn’t turn around because Gerard might look after him - or he might not. Sergio doesn’t want to find out if it’s the latter. And so he leaves and does not turn back.

This is not healthy, this thing they do. But Sergio doesn’t ever want to stop. He’ll come back… and so will Gerard. They always come back. They never stop. Never.

They can’t.

  
  
  
  


_“The moth don't care when he sees the flame,_

_he might get burned but he's in the game._

_And once he's in he can't go back_

_and beats his wings 'til he burns them black.”_

\-- Aimee Mann, “The Moth”.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey [zilldk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zilldk/pseuds/zilldk), still think I'm mean? :P


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